


This is Not a Waltz

by OzQueen



Category: Sleeping Beauty (1959)
Genre: Affection, Canon Het Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Love, Mentor/Protégé, Post-Canon, Self-Defense, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7564357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/pseuds/OzQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aurora just wants to know she could fight back if she needed to -- if she was given the chance. Phillip agrees to teach her, and it's just as well...</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Not a Waltz

**Author's Note:**

> For the author of [this](http://disney-kink.livejournal.com/11667.html?thread=7306899#t7306899) request on the Disney Kink Meme:
> 
> _PHILORA: Literally anything with A/P. They heavy lacking on this site :( wedding night/dream sex I don't even care._  
> 
> Sadly, very little sex at all, but I hope I managed to hit something that pleases your id. This got out of control REALLY fast. I have no idea where it came from, but I hope you like it!

* * *

They have been wed three days, and Aurora is not sleeping.

She stands at the window in her nightdress, watching the clouds chase themselves across the moon until Phillip wakes and comes to her side, making a soft noise in the back of his throat to alert her he's there.

"Bad dreams, my love?"

She shakes her head. "No dreams at all."

She used to dream such beautiful things; her heart and mind would grow full from it all, and now there is nothing but a void. There is nothing to measure the night hours, and she struggles to know how long she has been sleeping.

She finds she does not want to sleep long.

"Perhaps the fairies could help," he suggests quietly, trying to be helpful.

"Perhaps," she agrees, though she wants no thoughts of more spells cast upon her, even in aid.

She follows Phillip back to bed and curves her body to his, hungry for his touch and his strength; aching for the gentle way he touches her. His hands roam under her nightdress and he slips it off, loving words murmured into the golden curls spilling over her shoulders. He is awed by her, but still hesitant and cautious, asking softly if she's all right, if she's happy. Tells her, "I love you," and she whispers it back to him fiercely, over and over again, clutching him tightly until their affection has thoroughly exhausted them.

The candle is guttering and throwing ugly shadows against the walls, and her husband is sleepy and comfortable when she speaks quietly: "Phillip."

His dark eyes shine at her in the low light, and the pad of his thumb brushes her cheek. "Aurora."

(The name feels wrong, but it sounds pretty when said with his voice, and she finds herself warming to it.)

"Would you teach me how to hold a sword? How to fight with it?"

He furrows his brow. "Why would you want such a thing?" His hand smooths down her arm, soothing and sure. She knows what he is thinking: _I will hold the sword for you; I will fight for you and I will keep you safe._

That is what princes do, after all, and the princess waits for him to come to her and kiss her awake —

She shivers, and Phillip draws the bedclothes up over her bare shoulder in concern. "I'm here," he says simply. "You're safe now."

"I would feel safer if I knew how to hold a sword." She peeks up at him, feeling timid, like perhaps this is a betrayal of trust — almost a confession of his presence not being enough to protect her against the void behind her eyelids.

"Tomorrow," he promises, no longer hesitant. His thumb strokes her cheek. "I'll teach you to wield a sword as well as I can."

She smiles at him, and he kisses her brow and gently urges her to sleep.

She closes her eyes — and suddenly she believes she can smell dragon fire in the night air, and her blood is running cold, like it did when she followed the urge to find the spinning wheel, helplessly drawn like a moth to a candle flame.

She opens her eyes again and watches Phillip's chest rising and falling, and envies him for the way he can forget forests of thorns and the rattling of chains anchored to dungeon walls.

* * *

 

Aurora walks to the stables, a basket on her arm loaded with cheese and bread and fruit. She can hear Phillip singing to Samson in the dim and dusty light of the stalls, laughing when the horse flicks his tail at him.

She peeks around the door and watches him. Falling in love with him is the most careless thing she has ever done, but she can't bring herself to regret a single moment.

He catches sight of her and straightens up with a smile. "Good morning."

"Good morning." She walks towards him, the basket heavy in her hands. "Your father insisted we take lunch with us, but — well, you see it's quite cumbersome…" She hefts it in her arms.

Phillip laughs and takes the basket from her, and together they pack everything into the satchel hanging against Samson's saddle. "How was your lesson?"

"It was fine." She glances at him, curious about the lesson he has promised her — much more exciting, she hopes, than the etiquette and societal lessons she has had to sit through so far. (For all their loving attention, her aunts had neglected a lot of the things she now needed to know.)

"Well…" Phillip hesitates for a moment, and releases a breath. "Are you sure about wanting to handle a sword?" He looks at her like he rather hopes she'll have changed her mind.

She lifts her chin in determination. "I'm sure," she says. Her heart is beating hard in her chest, like she's doing something wrong or committing some kind of terrible betrayal, but Phillip only offers her his hand with a small smile.

"Well then, we'll saddle Starlight for you," he says. "Samson, don't you go poking your nose into that saddlebag, old boy." He rubs Samson's nose on the way past, and Aurora follows him through the stables, her skirts brushing the hard dirt floor and her heart thundering in her ears.

He helps her saddle quiet old Starlight, and lifts her onto the horse with strong arms, settling her gently. "Don't be nervous," he says. "She won't let you fall."

Aurora nods, clutching the reins tightly in her hands. Phillip and Samson lead the way, and Starlight follows at a leisurely pace Aurora eventually becomes used to.

They follow the winding road out of the town and into the woods, where the light turns green with grass and leaf and the air is sweet. Aurora feels much more at home in the woods than she does in the kingdom, though she would never admit this to her father or to Phillip.

"Would you like to visit the glen today?" Phillip asks, turning in his saddle a little to look at her.

"Oh, not today," she answers. Her mind is too consumed with what his sword will feel like in her hands — will it be as heavy as it looks? She's anxious about it, but overwhelmingly determined to try. Perhaps the night will not seem so endless when she knows what the weight of defense truly feels like.

Phillip leads her to a clearing not unlike the one they first danced in, and helps her down, his hands on her waist. "Hm," he says thoughtfully, tugging at her skirt with his fingers, "perhaps I should have found some hose for you to wear."

She giggles nervously and shakes her head, and he laughs and steps back. "All right," he says, "no real swordplay yet, my love. First we practice."

She watches as he cuts two long switches from the willow leaning over the stream, and hands one to her.

"I'm sure there are wooden practice swords somewhere in the castle," he says, "but I dared not risk your father — nor mine — discovering that I had asked for one. I'm not sure they would approve of my teaching you how to wield a weapon." His words are softened by his smile, but Aurora's heart sinks all the same, and she nods in agreement.

Even with the gaps in her knowledge, she knows that swords are not for princesses.

"It will be harder with a real sword," Phillip warns her. "You may need to use both hands at first. Remember, always, that they are heavy and sharp — dangerous things meant to bring harm."

Aurora nods, keen to memorize his every word.

With the willow switch in his hand, he shows her how to thrust, pointing out the vital places to strike a man so he falls. He touches the supple willow against her gently, and opens his arms so she can mimic his movements, lightly dashing her makeshift weapon against his tunic.

He shows her how to block, gently reminding her of her stance and how she should position her feet and what she should be watching for.

She presses him to show her more, to be faster, to be stronger with her and more determined, _Please, Phillip_ , and soon they are pink-cheeked and breathing hard, giggling and goading one another, the willow switches cutting through the air and snapping together with neat clicks.

It is during a particularly energetic swipe that Phillip's willow smacks sharply against Aurora's finger, and she yelps like a wounded pup, dropping her switch to the grass. Phillip is on his knees in front of her immediately, despair and regret raw on his face as he brings her bleeding knuckle to his lips and gently sucks the ache away, rolling his apologies breathlessly against the back of her hand.

"I'm all right," she reassures him, though her voice is shaky and for a moment tears threaten, though only due to the sudden shock of it all.

"Perhaps we should break for lunch," he suggests, his thumb rubbing against her wrist. "It will do us no good to return to the castle with you covered in bruises." He smiles up at her and her stomach tightens with the adoration in his eyes. She nods, and they sit beneath the willow with their bare feet in the stream, sharing their lunch and listening to the birds singing above them.

Phillip traces his fingertips gently over the welt on her hand. "I'm sorry," he says, looking miserable. "I should have known you'd get hurt."

"It was an accident," Aurora says, and suddenly she's terrified he will cease their lessons altogether, when all she has managed is to swish a silly willow twig through the air.

"Why do you need to know how to wield a sword, anyway?" Phillip asks, clearly bothered. "Don't you trust me to keep you safe? I won't let any harm come to you."

"Oh, I know," Aurora says. She tries to piece together her fears so she can explain them properly, but it's so difficult — fear is a very recent thing and she's not sure she understands it well enough to discuss it. Certainly there are few words to describe the dark feeling quivering deep down inside her.

"Are you afraid the witch will return?" Phillip asks, trying to help with gentle prompting.

"Perhaps," she says, nodding a little. She watches one of the forest squirrels nibble on one of the purple grapes from their lunch, it's black eyes shining at her cheerfully. When she glances to Phillip, his eyes show only concern.

"I don't think you need to worry about that, my love," he says reassuringly. He hesitates before he says, "I'm worried that having a sword in your hands will only invite further injury." He strokes his thumb gently over her swollen knuckle. It throbs under his touch.

"The witch is the reason I grew up without my parents," Aurora says, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. She feels ashamed, and is worried she sounds ungrateful. She loves her aunts dearly — the Three Good Fairies — but they are not her parents, and her sixteen years with them suddenly draws too many unanswered questions and hidden truths. "I was not unhappy," she hastens to explain. "But Maleficent kept me from myself. I was Briar Rose, not Aurora — and my life was… always due to come unlaced…" She looks down at her hands, frustrated by how difficult she finds it to explain everything.

Phillip waits patiently, his hands folded over hers.

"Well, you see…" She tries again. "What I thought was true — well, it all turned out to be wrong. And even if everything has worked out to be like the most _wonderful_ dream, it rather feels like stepping into the river and finding myself out of my depth… Do you understand?"

"I believe so," Phillip says. He squeezes her hand. "Are you worried the truth will change again?"

She nods, though she's still a little uncertain. "I wish I had been told about the curse," she says fretfully. "I feel helpless to have stopped any of it happening, not knowing about it. Wouldn't the best protection have been to simply warn me of the danger I was in?" She looks sideways at him.

"Magic worries people in a way other dangers don't," Phillip says. "I'm sure everyone thought they were doing what was best."

Aurora nods and smooths the skirt of her dress beneath her fingers. "I've been thinking about how different everything must be if you know how to prepare for all of the dangerous things in the world…"

Phillip makes a soft, worried noise, but she carries on before he can speak, desperate to explain herself. "Phillip, you're so strong, and brave, and you have such wonderful control over your sword and the way you move and all the things that happen around you. I never again want to feel the way I did when I climbed that staircase towards the spinning wheel…" She shudders and looks up at him helplessly. "I just want to know I could fight back a little, if I needed to…"

She can tell he's touched by her praise of him, and perhaps a little embarrassed, though it's mostly overshadowed by her confession of fear. "I understand," he says eventually, though he couldn't possibly. He cups her face in his hands to kiss her gently. "I will always fight for you," he promises, "but it is a worthy thing to wish to fight for yourself."

"So you'll teach me?" she asks hopefully. "Bruised knuckles and all?"

He sighs and dips his brow to hers with a smile. "Bruised knuckles and all."

* * *

 

Phillip is particularly gentle in his attentions that night. He strokes his long fingers against her until she's writhing and trembling from his touch, and he mouths loving words against her skin, all the delicate places he showed her earlier, where the blood flows so close and strong beneath the surface and can bring someone so instantly undone.

She's breathless in her encouragement when his lips graze over her throat, and she arches under him, baring herself to him completely until he carefully brings her to pieces beneath him, gathering her in his arms and holding her close until their breathing evens out and they grin at each other sheepishly, cheeks glowing with pleasure. 

"I love you," he whispers, and she nods and says the same back to him, meaning it a hundred times more.

His kisses her, barely letting her catch her breath. "I will keep you safe," he promises, and it has become a familiar song between them both, the words glowing with intent.

"We will keep each other safe," she whispers back, and his smile shines brightly in the candlelight.

* * *

 

King Hubert is baffled by Aurora and Phillip's desire to spend so much time in the woods. 

"We'll make the castle more comfortable for you!" he says earnestly, and Aurora smiles and kisses his cheek and tells him it's perfect, really, it's just…

"The forest is glorious at this time of year, Father," Phillip says, coming to her aid with casual bravado. "Besides, Aurora never got a chance to explore — she should get a chance to see the extent of the kingdom before winter comes."

"Oh, quite right, quite right," King Hubert says, nodding enthusiastically.

Aurora thinks he would never deny her anything, but neither she nor Phillip dares to mention Aurora's desire to learn how to master a sword.

When she meets Phillip in the stables, she again has a hearty lunch packed by the kitchen staff, and her heart is humming with anticipation of her next lesson, even if it's with another willow switch.

"I have a surprise for you," Phillip says, and he shows her two wooden swords he has stashed away in Samson's stall. "They'll bruise more than a willow switch, I'm afraid."

"Well, you'll just have to be more careful," Aurora teases him, and he laughs.

They go to the same clearing, and it's _much_ harder with the cumbersome wooden sword than it was with the willow. Aurora has to use both hands, and she finds it harder to block Phillip's sword with the same steadfastness she used before, even with the amount of care he's taking to be gentle.

"Remember your feet," he says, showing her how to anchor her weight. "Strength comes from the ground up."

She mimics him, blocking and cutting and thrusting and circling, and soon she is sweaty and tired in a way that feels satisfying and makes her body warm from head to toe.

They eat lunch by the stream again, and Phillip wades and tries to catch minnows in his hands, and Aurora laughs at him and sings so the birds come flying down to sit and whistle on the branches above their heads.

She cannot bring herself to feel too upset about the lack of dreams in her sleep when her daylight hours are so beautifully bright.

* * *

 

"Just what are you and Phillip up to all day in those woods, anyway?" Merryweather asks, squinting at Aurora suspiciously. 

Flora clears her throat lightly, but Merryweather's scrutiny doesn't shift.

"We talk," Aurora says, feeling a little flustered. She doesn't want to lie, but she doesn't want to tell the truth either. "We dance." She runs the brush through her golden curls again.

Merryweather folds her arms.

"Leave the poor dear alone, Merryweather," Flora says, gesturing with her hands to move both Merryweather and Fauna on.

Merryweather mutters under her breath. " _Newlyweds_ ," and Fauna giggles and sighs, waving goodbye to Aurora as Flora hurries them out the door.

The next afternoon, as she's bearing her strength against Phillip's, wooden sword to wooden sword, Aurora glimpses the blue shine of the sun on Merryweather's wings as she watches them through the trees.

One of the birds brings Aurora a pretty blue flower in its beak when they stop to take lunch, and Aurora takes new comfort in the Good Fairy's quiet approval.

("Don't tell Aunt Flora or Aunt Fauna," Aurora whispers to her later, feeling a little ashamed for wanting to keep her secret.

Merryweather grins. "Old busybodies," she agrees, and she uses her wand to shine a pretty blue X over her heart, sealing the promise between them.)

* * *

Phillip has sometimes allowed her to win their fighting games. Aurora only realizes this after she _really_ strikes Phillip, taking him by surprise for the first time as she manages to thud her wooden sword against his ribs. 

"My goodness," he coughs, straightening up.

"Did I hurt you?" she asks anxiously.

He leans on his sword and gives her his proudest smile. "A little."

"I'm sorry," she says, and she leans up on her toes to kiss him.

"Perhaps we should introduce a shield," he says. "Do you think you could hold both now?"

Aurora hefts her sword in her right hand. Her body is much stronger than it was weeks ago. "I believe I could," she says. "How heavy is a shield?"

He lets her hold his shield in both hands, watching her heft the weight. It's not as heavy as she thought it would be, though she knows now from experience that the longer you try to hold something aloft, the heavier it becomes.

"A shield can be as useful a weapon as it is a defense," Phillip says. "See how you could push your weight against it — against me? Strike a man with a shield and the blow can knock him down."

But it turns out it doesn't matter that she finds the weight manageable — the shield is made to fit Phillip's arm, and Aurora simply can't find a way to hold it properly.

"It's too big," she concedes finally, disappointed.

"We'll think of something," Phillip promises. He glances to the sky, drawing her attention to the late slope of the sun. "Next time," he says, and Aurora nods, and hides their wooden practice swords in the hollow log by the stream.

That night, she presses her lips gently to the purple bruise blooming over Phillip's ribs, and his fingers trace delicate patterns across her shoulders as she whispers apologies into his skin.

"I'm proud of you," he murmurs, and she smiles and falls asleep, curled warm against his side.

* * *

 

King Hubert, along with Aurora's own father, makes a frequent habit of mentioning grandchildren. Hubert has taken it upon himself to furnish two separate rooms for children — one adorned in pinks and purples, the other blues and greens, and King Stefan always finds an excuse to inspect the rooms when he visits, making sure both are still up to his approval. (And lamenting that both are still empty.)

Phillip simply laughs and shrugs it off, repeating the phrase, "All in good time," with a smile.

Aurora feels flustered and anxious whenever children are mentioned.

"Don't mind them, dear," Queen Leah says gently. She has talked Aurora through all of the necessary knowledge concerning exactly how a child will be conceived, carried and birthed — and Aurora trusts her word more than that of the Three Good Fairies, who all seemed rather vague and confused whenever she asked.

Her mother has commiserated and sympathized with her on the unfairness of menses and the bitter taste of the contraceptive herbs in her breakfast tea.

"There is plenty of time for children," she says, her arm secure and gentle around Aurora's shoulders. "These things do not need to be hurried. You are both young."

Truthfully, Aurora is terrified of bringing a helpless babe into the world before she feels she can take care of herself.

"Do you want a child?" she asks Phillip quietly, nestled with him in bed, the morning sun creeping its light slowly over the horizon.

"Of course," he answers, but he repeats to her what he tells his father: "All in good time."

She nods, relieved that he truly does seem at peace with waiting.

Phillip's thumb gently traces her cheek. "I know it worries you," he says.

"Not as much as it used to," she answers. She smiles when Phillip's fingers gently touch the rough calluses forming on her palms.

"There will be no witches to take our child from us," he promises. He kisses her and pulls her closer.

Aurora parts her legs and buries her face against his neck, arms wound around his shoulders. "No witch would get past us alive," she says.

* * *

 

"How much longer do I need to practice with a wooden sword?" she asks her husband one afternoon, lying with her head in the hollow his shoulder as they gaze up at the blue sky. 

"You should only ever practice with wooden swords," he answers. "Real swords are too dangerous, darling."

Her disappointment is crushing. "Should I not know the differences? A wooden sword must feel different to the true thing. I don't want to just play games, Phillip. I want to know how to _really_ do this."

Phillip is silent, but thoughtful, and she waits for him to answer. When he fails to speak, she tips her head back to look at him.

"Let me think on it a little," he says. He kisses the top of her head, and she knows he will come to her with an answer eventually.

They lounge together on the green grass, watching the leaves above them quiver in the breeze.

When Phillip sits up, it's with a look of unease.

"What is it?" Aurora asks.

He pulls her gently to her feet and shakes his head. "I can't put my finger on it." He glances around. "Can you hear the birds?"

Aurora listens, but the woods are silent. The trees suddenly feel too tall, too close, too shadowed.

 _Maleficent_ , she thinks in a panic, though it can't be. _It can't be._

The sun is still shining, but the warmth she had been enjoying moments ago seems to have been sucked away. She glances to the horses. They are both staring into the woods. Samson flicks his ears.

"I think it's time to head back," Phillip says. "Perhaps rain is on the way."

Aurora nods, and he lifts her into the saddle, glancing over Starlight's back, watching for a moment longer than she's comfortable with.

She looks over her shoulder nervously. "Did you see something?"

He doesn't answer her. He has an expression on his face she has never seen before — a new awareness, a different sort of focus in his dark eyes.

When he speaks, his voice is so low she can barely hear it. "Aurora," he says. His eyes are still on the trees. "All this sword fighting… I neglected to advise you of the most important lesson of all."

"Oh?" One syllable, but her voice cracks. The forest seems much darker than it did before.

"Yes." Phillip glances at her, but his gaze doesn't linger. "The most important thing, my love, is to never fight if you do not have to." When he looks at her again she is agonized to see fear on his face. "Get to the castle," he whispers. "Do not stop."

The question she wants to ask him emits itself as a gasp instead; Starlight wheels quickly after Phillip slaps her rump hard, and Aurora can think only of hanging on and keeping her balance.

She does not get far — they reach the edge of the clearing, headed for the worn path through the trees, when they are blocked by several small shadows, green eyes glowing in the gloomy light. Starlight rears, and Aurora is thrown, landing hard on her back. The breath is knocked from her lungs and she finds herself helpless to move, Starlight's hoofbeats growing fainter as the horse flees towards the castle.

It is only the terror in Phillip's voice which finally gets her to move. "Aurora!" He calls for her with raw fear, and she coughs and rolls over, and finally she sees what has disturbed the afternoon. Phillip had spoken of them — described them, and told the story, over and over, but she hadn't truly been able to imagine them until now.

They are short, and grotesque, and their armor is sparse and heavy. Maleficent's minions, ever loyal, have lain in wait, and now they swarm around Phillip, daggers glinting in the dull light, lengths of rope and chain dragging in the grass.

Phillip's sword cuts an arc through the air, and she knows it has done damage, but their strength is in numbers.

She is forced back to sudden practicality when she is seized by her ankles and dragged. She kicks immediately, breaking the grip of a dirty, stubby green hand and making contact with a fleshy snout. The creature squeals when it falls back, and Aurora scrambles to her feet, already feeling the aches and pains from her fall.

 _My sword_ , she thinks helplessly. It's back in the hollow log, no use to her now. Would it be use at all? _Surely a wooden sword is better than no sword at all._

"Run!" Phillip shouts at her, but she can't leave him there; she will not leave him to fight alone.

She runs to the hollow log, almost tripping on the hem of her dress, which is much longer than the simple gown she wore as Briar Rose. She grits her teeth and gathers the material in her hands, lifting it to her knees as she races for the log, each breath sharp in her lungs.

She can smell blood, and she can only pray it isn't Phillip. _Please not him, please don't let him be hurt._

When she pulls her sword from the log, she wheels around, gripping it in both hands, her skirts billowing around her. She swings sharply, not thinking, not hesitating. She swings harder than she ever has with Phillip, and is momentarily horrified by the damage she does to the fat little body she cuts down, the blow against the side of his neck strong enough to kill.

Phillip has already claimed others — their blood is dark in the grass, but still they are huge in number, and they soon have him pinned, arms twisted as they work to bind him, and Aurora feels fury overriding her fear as she realizes they mean to take him from her.

Her sword collides with a set of stone-like teeth, making a satisfying crack, the vibration carrying up into her arms. It is then she notices Phillip's sword, having been torn from his grip. She lunges for it, pulling it from a thick pool of blood and swinging it upwards. It's heavier than the wooden sword and she feels little resistance as it carves through flesh. Blood sprays her skirt and oozes warm between her fingers.

The creatures recognize her as a threat, and she sees the tide of them shift and swarm towards her. Phillip kicks out and trips two of them, but there are so many and she can't move the sword fast enough to cut them all down —

Samson rears behind her and she ducks, rolling out of the way as his hooves come crashing down. She swings the sword again but it clangs against a solid helmet, knocking her victim down but only momentarily. She grits her teeth and lifts it again, but it's too heavy and she's too slow and they're too close now, too close too close too close too close —

They grab her skirt in their gnarled hands and drag her down, and she hears Samson's shoes crashing against armor; she hears the cries and anger of the attacking army, and she tries to see through the fray to where she last knew Phillip was but everything is a mess of bloodied bodies and mashed grass.

She tries to call his name but she can't get enough air into her lungs, and suddenly it seems she's not taken a breath since falling from her horse.

She jabs the sword forward in one last effort to free herself, but it meets armor again, and they knock the weapon from her hands and pin her wrists to the grass, the rattle of chains in her ears as they scramble to restrain her.

There is a sudden burst of blue sky above her as two of the shadows are bodily thrown back, and Phillip is above her, sweat and blood on his face and a stolen dagger in his hand, the blade small enough to pinpoint the weaknesses between armor plates. He kicks, and swings punches, three times taller than the stunted little things fighting for their fallen mistress, his blows flinging them far enough away to gain him time to pull Aurora to her feet.

"Go," he gasps, but she only presses the hilt of his sword into his hand and scrambles to snatch back her trusty wooden one, an effective club she's familiar with.

The creatures are wary now. They circle them both, grumbling and snapping curses at them, glowing green eyes counting their remaining forces. Aurora watches a few of them slink back into the woods, not daring to risk further fighting. The pile of bodies in the clearing is alarming; the ground slippery underfoot with spilled blood.

Aurora can feel her arms shaking, and all she wants to do is go to pieces for a moment; just have enough time to recollect herself. But she can't stop, she can't drop her sword or laugh and ask Phillip to wait until she's caught her breath again…

She and Phillip are back to back. She knows he will die before he lets anything happen to her, and that they are still outnumbered. Her sword, which felt so light after dropping Phillip's gleaming blade, now feels heavy in her hands.

Her breathing seems awfully loud. She tries to get it under control — deep breath in, deep breath out — but she's shaking right down to her fingertips, and her body throbs all over after falling from her horse.

One of the creatures speaks in a voice which sounds too entrenched, too deep inside it; the sound of swamp water and thorns. "We will let the princess leave safely, if you surrender."

Pressed against his back, Aurora feels Phillip stiffen, and she speaks before he can. "No."

The little green eyes narrow.

"We both leave together," Aurora says, sounding braver than she feels.

There is no time for argument. Aurora hears the noise before she sights what causes it — something almost directly opposite to the voice of the creature offering the bargain; something much more delicate and bright.

A burst of blue sparks, and the ugly little creature falls apart into a cloud of blue butterflies, which scatter in the breeze. Red, green, red, blue, blue, green, red…

Aurora presses back against Phillip as her guardians race into the clearing, faces set like stone, wands pointed forward, and the army is dissolved between the trees, suddenly nothing more than pretty, fluttering wings.

"Are you all right?" Fauna asks anxiously, just as Flora breathlessly says, "Starlight came racing back without you and we thought…"

Phillip lowers his sword and gathers Aurora in under his arm, clutching her tightly. "We're fine," he says, and Aurora nods, though she still can't stop trembling.

Flora looks at the wooden sword in Aurora's hand, then to Aurora, then to Phillip. Aurora knows the secret is out and everything has been discovered, whether she admits to it all or not. (Which of course she must.)

Flora asks no questions, and she hushes Fauna, who looks worried. "Come now," she says, beckoning. "Back to the castle, before King Hubert sends his army to rescue you."

* * *

 

Aurora is bathed and clean, her hair neatly brushed over her shoulders until it shines, a soft nightgown covering the purple bruising on her back. She paces the floor, waiting for Phillip, glancing out the window now and then to the setting sun. 

When he finally joins her, she wrings her hands. "Where have you been?"

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, "I didn't mean to take so long." He gives her a gentle smile. "I have a present for you."

The sword is delicate but strong, and when she holds it in her hand she can hardly believe how right it feels. She knows it's come from Merryweather, crafted with loving and clever magic, though there's nothing to tell her this for sure.

"It's yours," Phillip says. "To keep with you, always." He kisses her brow. "We will both always need to practice, and we must never grow complacent, but I know now that you are more than capable of saving me if the need arises." He smiles at her.

She sets the sword gently down. She feels nervous. "My hands are still shaking," she whispers.

"Mine too." Phillip holds his hand out, and she can see a delicate tremor in his fingers. "When your heart races, I suppose everything else tries to keep up."

She feels a little better after seeing his matching physical reaction, and she gives him a small smile.

He reaches out and takes her hand, and pulls her in and wraps her in his arms. "You saved my life," he whispers against the top of her head. "You fought so bravely."

"I was so afraid," she admits.

"Of course," he says. "All sensible people are afraid when they have to raise a sword. Being afraid doesn't mean you can't also be brave. In fact, I think it makes you more so." He brushes a knuckle under her chin and she looks up at him and sees the pride in his eyes, and it warms her from the inside out.

"Come and dream with me," he murmurs, and she nods and falls into bed with him, limbs tangling, Phillip's hands passing gentle caresses over her aching muscles.

She settles against him, her back to his chest, and she remembers the secure feeling of him standing behind her, sword at the ready. She feels more united with him than she ever has before. He may have broken the curse and proved himself her True Love with a kiss, but it is this — blood and shadow and swords — which has convinced her more than ever that they are eternally bound.

"Phillip," she whispers.

"Hmm?" He's almost asleep. His lashes catch on her skin as he blinks in confusion.

"I'm glad I was awake for this adventure."

He laughs and nestles closer to her. "So am I, my darling."

She fits beside him, like they are two cogs bound to turn and work together, and his breath falls against the back of her neck, his arm draped over her waist. He hums quietly against her skin, and she finds herself thinking not of the dance they shared once upon a dream, but instead of their dances in the clearing since — careful footwork, and wooden swords drumming together, a new grace and elegance to every deliberate movement.

This is the dance she dreams of.

 

* * *

 


End file.
